Scars
by Karen Hikari
Summary: A scar, an old reminder of what the past had been. But the real wounds weren't the ones that could be read in the skin. The real wounds were the ones left in their hearts and memory. Gaara happens to see one of Temari's multiple scars. A scar he himself was risponsble of.


I love the Sand Siblings! I had to write this! The idea simply appeared and I had to write it!

_Scars_

It was mid-summer, and as usual during this season, the temperature in Suna easily raised up to 131° F. It was during days like this in which living in the desert became a real problem. Something . . . troublesome, like a certain guy in Konoha would say, Temari thought, as she carelessly brushed her purple blouse away, making the edge of it near her left shoulder, revealing the beginning of an old scar.

"I gave you that one, did I not?" Gaara asked, pointing to the scar that crossed the left side of her chest, starting underneath her shoulder and ending near her breastbone; a scar done with a sharp object, presumably a kunai, deep enough to bleed a lot, but not enough to hit the heart, a scar that'd left a fine, white line behind, a sour reminder of what the past had been.

At first, the voice of her brother startled her, because she hadn't noticed he was there, but when she processed the question, she gulped slowly as a shaky hand raised to try to cover the mark left on her skin.

"Yes" she answered dryly. They felt silent. An uncomfortable and awkward silence until she talked again. "It is of no importance. It was an accident." She muttered, her voice with no trace of her usual harshness, this one leaving behind a feeling of emptiness instead.

"You know it was not." Gaara said slowly, his voice strangled and lacking of feeling in a different way from usual one; this time it seemed as if he himself was trying to block emotions out. "I failed." He cleared, his voice becoming a whisper. "I was aiming your heart." He finished, his eyes turning to the floor, avoiding his sister's gaze as hard as he could.

That horrible silence came again. That heavy, disturbing silence.

Temari's heart slowed its pace as she took a slow, heavy in-breath.

She remembered that especially bad night around five years ago in which Kankuro had forcedly left her with their brother. Alone. In a whole-moon night.

It was nothing special that had angered him. It was not her, she hadn't done anything. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Even in the times when Gaara's madness was at its worst, she had insisted in cooking and leaving part of the food for him –not that he ate anything either–; insisted in keeping an eye on her brother, though that was unlikely to keep her alive for long, as proved that night.

The nights with whole moon were the worst, for everybody. Gaara might have suffered from headaches, and it was harder to keep Shukaku under control, but still, for Kankuro and Temari, the knowledge of the demon's strength and the facility in which Gaara would fall into its desire burnt with fear and had them aching with worry –not for the one that was supposedly their brother, but for themselves.

Maybe it was because of that that it seemed more important to have him eating well –for recovering the strength that the demon and the lack of sleep took away.

Anyhow, that night, when she had neared her brother's room the feeling of fear was stronger, making it seem as if it were even more dangerous to be there.

And it had been.

She'd knocked at the door, expecting an answer, but all she could her were animal-like groans, so she opened the door slowly, with trembling hands, her forehead and back wet with sweat.

As fast as the door was open, something sharp came out of it with amazing rapidness, something that seemed to be a sand blade heading towards her, specifically, towards her heart.

Her breath became stuck in her throat as she saw the unexpected weapon coming straight to her heart. Her shinobi skills hadn't alerted her of it, and she found herself unable to react now, while it continued nearing her chest. All those times when she'd wondered if her brother was actually capable of trying to kill her, all those times when she'd heard his threats, all her fear crossing right in front of her eyes, with that sand blade aiming for her heart.

Still, in the end, her instinct had saved her, making her jump to her right side in the last moment, as she dropped the tray to the floor, the porcelain cup and plate breaking as they crashed into the floor with a horribly loud sound, and the weapon that was meant to cut through her chest, killing her, only managed to open a deep wound across her chest, starting a few inches under her shoulder and following in a neat line until almost reaching her breastbone.

Crimson blood instantly soaked her torn clothes. She'd run. As fast as her legs could carry her she ran.

She vaguely recalled fearing that the sand would follow her, though it didn't, as she discovered later. Still, she'd left the house, not caring about anything she left behind, too concerned that the sand waves that she thought followed her would reach her and finish the job.

After that, she didn't remember much, just approaching a medical station and mumbling something about 'that bastard demon'. She passed out shortly after.

She'd needed stitches. Even for the med nins it'd been impossible to heal that wound with only chakra. She woke up next morning, feeling weak and disoriented, until she remembered what had happened and started feeling fortunate of still breathing.

But that had happened a long time ago. She'd been out of missions for three good weeks, her father had nagged at her and shout a bit –okay, a lot–, and the scar had remained. Still, she didn't really worry about the lost missions, Father yelled anyway, and she usually forgot about the scar, because it wasn't important. She usually didn't think about it because she was covered in similar scars, being the experienced kunoichi she was. It really didn't matter. And her clothes covered it either way.

"I know" she replied at last, her voice sounding unsure. "But you didn't" she managed to say.

"I wouldn't have regretted it if I had." Gaara pointed out, his voice harsh-sounding but, she knew, hiding pain.

She remained silent for a moment, until she was able to come up with an answer. "Would you now?" she asked, the defiant note back in her voice.

"What?" he replied, obviously confused.

"If you killed me now." She explained. "Would you regret it if you killed me now?"

He stared at her, his eyes becoming wide with fear and hurt. Fear that she didn't trust him. Fear that she would even think that, she could even imagine him doing something like that. And hurt. Hurt that all his efforts hadn't been enough for changing the image his own sister had of him. Still, Temari stared back, trying to keep her face blank, but biting her lower lip. A part of her felt guilty for making her younger brother endure that suffering, but her other part knew she needed to do that to make her point clear.

When he finally answered, his voice was thick with fear of his sister rejecting him. "Of course I would." He said, his voice no more than a whisper.

At his words, his sister's brow softened, and her eyes reflected empathy. "Then that's it" she said, mimicking his low tone. "No need to add more." She concluded, breaking eye contact.

"I tried to nevertheless" he pointed out bluntly.

Temari closed her eyes and sighed in a tired manner; when she opened them, again, the gentleness that had been there moments earlier was gone. Her teal eyes seemed to harden, making her look stricter, maybe even mad.

"You know what?" she said, undoing the knots that tied her gray top around her sides and let it fall to the ground when there was nothing else to hold it in place. "It's enough." She took her hands to the edge of her blouse and raised it up, revealing her abdomen, which held another scar. One even more unsightly than the previous one, this one a pale line of nearly 12 cm. that started exactly on her right side and continued in a concave curved line and ended a few centimeters down of where her ribs were. "This one's Kankuro's" she explained. "I was twelve, he was eleven, we were fighting and suddenly Karasu was sending needles at me. Avoided each but one, that got into my liver. Doctors had to open me to put it back in its place. Nearly died" she said, matter-of-factly, her voice completely emotionless.

For a moment, they only stared at each other, Temari still holding her shirt up for him to see the long-healed wound, even though he was looking into her eyes.

There was no hate in those eyes, and they didn't make him or Kankuro responsible for endangering her life. True was, she didn't. She was a tough person, a strong woman, and one of the most fearless shinobis Suna had. She didn't fear death, not really, since she was well-aware of the danger she endured daily, and she had long-ago learned to keep up with it and to laugh in danger's face. The fights with her brothers and known might have seemed a little too violent and exaggerated, but that was just the shinobi way to solve things, and she sincerely didn't mind having a scar or two, since they were just reminders of old battles, and she'd been in enough for having quite a few of those marks in her skin.

Not every wound left a scar, just the ones deep enough to or the ones that weren't treated with chakra, and being as stubborn as she was, she had quite a few of the second ones in her legs and arms. God, she herself had cut while training or cooking and suddenly popping a knife into a finger by accident. She sincerely didn't mind about the marks on her skin.

Gaara was the first one to break eye contact. "He wasn't trying to kill you." He replied, his eyes glued to the floor. "I was."

He heard her sigh tiredly. "But neither could. Enough torturing yourself with the thought" she said, her voice not cold, but strict, allowing no reply. "And don't you fools think is that easy to get rid of me." She finished, her usual mocking tone back in her voice before she allowed herself a little laugh.

When he dared look up again, he found her smiling one of those rare and honest smiles she saved for her siblings, her right hand on her hip, her fingers slightly brushing against the scar on her side.

"You don't blame . . ?" he started, his voice trailing off at the end.

Again, his sister's eyes shinned with fondness. "Of course not" she answered gently. "The wounds from the flesh heal faster and more easily than the wounds from the heart, don't they? She asked gently, quoting their uncle.

Though it was probably dangerous to mention Yashamaru, the words had left her mouth before she could stop them. Still, no sand waves attacked her. Instead, her brother's eyes just widen in surprise.

"These were just flesh wounds, Gaara." She explained, while she slowly extended her left hand, griping her brother's shoulder and smiling slightly. "And these have healed. I don't mind about them, don't worry" she said, looking right into his eyes before pulling him into a loose hug, breaking from it shortly after.

"For now" she said once they were separated again "my main problem is how hot it's here. What's up with this fucking temperature?" She exclaimed, her usual complaining tone back in her voice, her hands on her hips, faking she really was mad. But her eyes still shone with warmness as her brother looked into them.

Looking at her, he couldn't help himself but smile a little, smile she returned short after.

The real wounds weren't the ones that could be read in the skin. The real wounds were the ones left in their hearts and memory, but those had healed as well, and the only thing that remained were scars.


End file.
